The Proposal
The nursery lamp was turned low, casting a warm amber glow across the crib and the rocking chair where Ashley sat.
Symphony lay in her arms, tiny body still restless, cheeks flushed from the low-grade fever that had lingered all week.
The baby fussed... small, frustrated whimpers, little legs kicking weakly, refusing the bottle again until Ashley began to hum.
She rocked slowly, one hand cradling the back of Symphony’s head, the other gently patting her back in a steady rhythm. The lullaby was soft, almost hesitant at first, but familiar... something Melody used to sing, though Ashley sang it with a slightly different cadence, a touch more polished.
“Shhh, sweet girl,” Ashley murmured, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay. Mama Ash is here. Just close your eyes… everything’s alright.”
Symphony’s cries quieted gradually. Her small fists unclenched. Her breathing slowed, evened out. The restless kicking stilled. She nuzzled closer to Ashley’s chest, eyelids fluttering, then closing.
Ashley kept rocking, kept humming, until the baby was fully asleep, cheeks still warm, but calm for the first time in days.
Christian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching in silence.
He hadn’t moved since Ashley started.
No one else had been able to do this. Not the nanny, not Victoria, not even him.
Symphony had cried for hours every night since Melody left, refusing comfort, refusing food, as if she knew her mother was gone and nothing else would do.
Ashley looked up, noticing him at last.
She offered a small, tired smile.
“She’s out,” she whispered. “Finally.”
Christian stepped inside quietly.
He looked down at his daughter, peaceful now, tiny hand curled against Ashley’s sweater, and something tight in his chest loosened.
“Thank you,” he said softly, voice rough from lack of use. “For helping me feed her… for putting her to sleep. No one else could.”
Ashley shrugged lightly, still rocking.
“She just needed someone to hold on to tonight.”
Christian watched her for a long moment... Ashley’s calm hands, the gentle way she cradled Symphony, the quiet patience she showed when no one else had any left.
He exhaled slowly.
Then he spoke, voice low but steady.
“Marry me.”
Ashley’s rocking stilled.
She looked up at him, eyes widening slightly.
Christian didn’t flinch.
He held her gaze.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You’re good with her. She trusts you. The house needs stability. Symphony needs… a mother figure. And I need someone who understands what this family requires.”
Ashley blinked, then looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms.
A small, careful smile touched her lips.
“You’re asking me now?” she whispered. “After everything?”
Christian nodded once.
“I’m asking you now.”
Silence stretched between them... soft, heavy, filled with the quiet breathing of the child they both held in different ways.
Ashley looked back at him.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Christian exhaled... relief, resignation, something close to peace.
He stepped closer and gently took Symphony from her arms, settling the baby in the crib.
He tucked the blanket around her, brushed a curl from her forehead.
Then he turned to Ashley.
“Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time.
She stood, smoothing her sweater, eyes soft.
“We’ll make it work,” she whispered.
Christian nodded.
He didn’t smile.
But for the first time in weeks, the weight on his shoulders felt… lighter.
Even if only a little.
×××××××
Ashley pushed the door to her old room closed with a soft click, the sound barely audible over the distant hum of the house settling for the night.
She walked straight to the en-suite bathroom, turned on the faucet, and scrubbed her hands under scalding water as if she could wash away the faint scent of baby formula and talcum powder that still clung to her skin.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror... flawless makeup, perfect hair, lips curved in a satisfied little smile.
“Fucking finally,” she muttered under her breath, shutting off the tap and drying her hands on a plush towel. “That brat’s been a nightmare all week. Restless, crying, refusing the bottle like she knows something’s missing.”
She leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her reflection, then let out a low, amused scoff.
“A few drops of that sedative in her milk,” she whispered to herself, almost giggling. “Just enough to make her drowsy, heavy, sleepy. And look at that, Christian melts. Thinks I’m some magical nanny-mother hybrid. Thinks I actually care.”
She turned off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom, heels clicking softly on the hardwood.
“He proposed,” she said aloud, voice filled with triumphant glee. “Right there in the nursery, looking at me like I hung the moon because the little monster finally shut up and slept in my arms. Fool. Absolute fool.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs, fingers tracing the diamond bracelet on her wrist... a gift from an old fling, not that Christian needed to know.
“He thinks I’m good with her,” she murmured, smile widening into something sharp and cold. “Thinks I’m the answer to all his problems. Poor, grieving widower needs a perfect stepmother for his poor, motherless child.”
She laughed, quiet, delighted and cruel.
“Let him think it,” she said to the empty room.
“Let him marry me. Let him put a ring on it. Once I’m in, once I’m Mrs. Holt, I’ll have everything.
The house. The money. The name. And that screaming little leech?
She’ll be shipped off to boarding school the second she’s old enough.
Or maybe I’ll just… keep dosing her until she’s quiet forever. ”
She stood, stretched languidly, and walked to the window. The city lights glittered far below, indifferent.
Christian had no idea.
No idea how easy it had been.
No idea that the woman he’d just asked to marry him had drugged his daughter to make her sleep.
No idea that the “perfect” mother figure he’d chosen was already planning how to erase the last trace of Melody Evans from his life.
Ashley smiled at her reflection in the dark glass.
“Sleep tight, little Symphony,” she whispered. “Mama Ash has big plans for you.”
She turned off the lamp.
The room plunged into darkness.
And somewhere down the hall, Christian sat alone in his study, staring at the torn pieces of a check on his desk from days ago, wondering why the victory felt so hollow.
×××××××
I still remember the day we found out I was pregnant.
It was an accident. Completely unplanned. Completely unexpected.
We had been married for less than three months, still living in that cold, careful distance where every touch felt like a battle neither of us knew how to win.
I’d been feeling off for weeks... tired in a way that went bone-deep, nauseous at the smell of coffee, breasts tender and aching.
I bought the test, hands shaking in the pharmacy aisle, paid in cash like it was something shameful.
I took it alone in the guest bathroom of the mansion.
Two pink lines appeared almost immediately.
I stared at them until the room blurred.
I was terrified.
Terrified he would reject it.
Terrified he would look at me with that same cold disgust he wore every day and tell me to get rid of it.
Terrified he would see the baby as another chain, another punishment, another reason to hate me more.
I waited until dinner that night... quiet, tense, like every meal we shared.
I couldn’t eat.
The words stuck in my throat for hours.
Finally, when the plates were cleared and we were alone in the dining room, I forced myself to speak.
“Christian,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
He froze.
Fork halfway to his mouth.
Eyes lifting slowly to mine.
I braced myself... braced for anger, for silence, for him to walk away.
Instead… he stared.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then something shifted in his face.
Not softness, not quite.
But the hardness cracked, just a little.
His gaze dropped to my stomach, then back to my eyes.
He didn’t speak at first.
But when he thought I wasn’t looking, when I turned my head to wipe the tears I couldn’t hold back, I saw it.
A small, fleeting smile.
Private.
Almost tender.
The corners of his mouth lifted, soft and real, like a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip.
He looked at my stomach again, and for one heartbeat, his hand twitched. Like he wanted to reach out, to touch the place where our child was growing.
Then the mask slid back into place.
The smile vanished.
He set his fork down.
“We’ll handle it,” he said, voice flat again. “You’ll see the doctor tomorrow.”
That was all.
But I saw it.
That tiny, unguarded smile when he thought no one was watching.
It was the first and only time I ever saw him look at the idea of our child with anything close to wonder.
I clung to that moment for weeks.
Even when he grew colder again.
Even when Victoria’s cruelty started.
Even when the revenge tightened around me like a noose.
I told myself that smile meant something.
That somewhere, deep under the grief and hate, he wanted this baby too.
—Melody
×××××××
Victoria sat in her favorite armchair by the fireplace, a glass of red wine in one hand, the firelight dancing across the sharp lines of her face.
The room smelled of cedar logs and her signature perfume.
.. expensive, cold, controlled. She was scrolling through her phone when the door opened without a knock.
Ashley swept in, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering with triumph. She held up her left hand immediately, fingers splayed, the diamond solitaire catching every flicker of flame and throwing sparks across the walls.
“He proposed,” Ashley said, voice breathless with glee. “Right there in the nursery. After I put Symphony to sleep. He just… asked me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”
Victoria’s head lifted slowly. Her gaze locked on the ring... large, flawless, clearly expensive. A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips.
Ashley twirled her hand, letting the diamond flash.
“Look at it. Three carats. Platinum. Classic cut. He said it was his grandmother’s... reset for me. Can you believe it? After all these years of waiting, of playing second fiddle to that pathetic little murderer… he finally chose me.”
Victoria set her wine glass down with deliberate care.
She rose from the chair, crossed the room in three elegant steps, and took Ashley’s hand. She examined the ring closely, turning it this way and that in the firelight.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “Exactly what a Holt bride should wear.”
Ashley beamed, practically vibrating.
“He said I’m good with Symphony.
That she trusts me. That the house needs stability.
He thinks I’m the perfect mother figure.
” She laughed... sharp and delighted. “He has no idea I had to drug the little brat to make her sleep. A few drops in her bottle, and suddenly I’m the miracle worker. Fool.”
Victoria’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sharpened.
“He proposed last night?” she asked, voice still soft.
“Yes. Right after she finally passed out in my arms. He looked at me like I was the answer to everything.” Ashley leaned in, conspiratorial. “He’s broken, Victoria. Completely broken over that woman. And I’m going to be the one who puts him back together. Me. Not her.”
Victoria released Ashley’s hand and stepped back, folding her arms.
“You did well,” she said. “Very well.”
Ashley’s grin widened.
“I know. And once we’re married, once I’m Mrs. Christian Holt, that little leech upstairs won’t matter anymore. I’ll give him a boy. The heir to the Holt fortune.”
Victoria nodded once, slow and thoughtful.
Then she smiled... small, cold, approving.
“Congratulations, darling,” she said. “You’ve earned this.”
Ashley laughed again, turning her hand to admire the ring once more.
The fire crackled behind them, warm and indifferent.
×××××××